


Speed of Light

by Skyshadow54



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Autobot Messenger, Cybertronian Civil War, Cybertronian Racer, Gen, Lost friends, Original Character(s), Running, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyshadow54/pseuds/Skyshadow54
Summary: A tale of a racer turned messenger.
Kudos: 2
Collections: Universe One





	Speed of Light

They say a racer never stops running until he can’t any longer.

It’s in the energon that runs through their veins. They were born to run.

Racers are one of the most driven groups of mecha on Cybertron.

They are dedicated. And they are made to be this way. How else do you keep running, even if you don’t always win?

The roar of the cheering crowd and fellow racers’ engines.

The heat on the paved racetrack.

The whizzing noise of his best friend passing him, pulling into first place.

Lightwave remembered this from his vorns of racing.

Back when his best friend was online. Back when he still placed right after him. Back before the war started. Before Iacon was attacked.

That was when he was a racer.

Now, he still raced. He still had opponents. He still had a time to beat.

But now, things were different.

Instead of the roar of a crowd and fellow race alt engines, it was the roar of machine gunfire and the screams of mecha in battle.

Instead of the heat of the track, it was the heat of fire that burned buildings.

In the place of his best friend taking the place just ahead of him, it was a bullet zipping past his audio, barely missing its mark as he dodged just in time.

Lightwave still raced, but it was not on a track. It was now across battlefields, no-mecha’s-lands, abandoned passages in lower levels of the planet, and sometimes even mine fields.

Back then, he never looked back, only forward. Now, it was hard for him not to. To not check for his fellow Autobots’ well-being. To see if they’d fallen.

He was now racing against higher stakes than being one of the last to cross the finish line or breaking the record. Now, if he lost the race, he’d be offline.

And the messages and packages he carried would be lost to hands that should not have it.

Back then, if he lost, his friends would pat him on the back and they’d joke about next time. Now, if he lost, his remaining friends could die. Along with others, both soldier and civilian.

Often, as he ran through quieter terrain, Lightwave thought about his offlined friend, Wingracer. Of the mech’s offlined sparkmate, Harmony, who’d also been his friend. Of their younglings, the older one who’d tried, failed in a way, to follow in his sire’s pedesteps. Of the younger one, who he knew wasn’t as offline as everyone thought from a chance meeting or two.

Of his failure to really help any of the four.

Lightwave also thought about the others he’d lost, and those he’d gained as friends since.

Orns came and went. Offcycles did too, it was fortunate he got lights installed in his racer alt mode since joining the Autobots. There hadn’t been a need before.

Now, it wasn’t just the offcycle outside the cities that was dark. Their world was getting darker and more horrid as the decacycles went by.

They lost some ground, and they gained some. But mostly lost or fended off and held.

Lightwave knew there were rumours. Rumours he didn’t want to believe. Rumours he had a sinking feeling that there was truth to them.

Cybertron was dying.

The Autobots and Decepticons were fighting over a dying world. Energon was getting scarce in some regions. There were no more miners or working mines. Creatures from the deeper levels of the planet came upward, attracted by the warring mecha above them and lack of mining to scare them off. Now, even if one wanted to brave the lower levels, it was deemed by most too dangerous.

Some of both factions had followed in the paths of many neutrals and had left the planet. There were many now scattered to the stars, it was unknown if they had made it to safety. Or what destination that safety was.

Lightwave hoped it didn’t merely spread their war to other unfortunate planets.

He thought of the colonies. Caminus. Velocitron, where he, along with Wingracer, was descended from. Junk.

All lost contacts with the loss of the spacebridges.

But there were many planets that could be made home or destroyed by their mecha.

The racer prayed it would not be the latter. There had already been far too much destruction and death.

Death was not their term for it originally. It had come from organic planets. But it somehow sounded more final than their word in a way. Perhaps it had something to do with the shorter lifespans of organic beings compared to their own. There were reasons Cybertronians were considered immortal by some other races.

Their planet hadn’t suffered as much loss as others, despite the wars they’d had from past history. But perhaps, it would catch up with this one.

Offlinement.

Death.

Cybertron reeked of it.

Nearly everywhere Lightwave went, he saw evidence of it.

Deserted battlefields. Empty city sectors. Quiet streets. Dead mines. Silent plains.

There was safety in the silence, no mecha to try and kill him, preventing him from making it to the next base he was to deliver to. However, the silence meant something. It gave way to thoughts and memories.

It showed Lightwave things he wished to erase from memory.

Not all mecha were honourable enough to bury their fallen comrades. Not all mecha were able to, forced to flee to save their own lives, along with their remaining comrades. Not all mecha were able to resist the temptation of scouring the fallen for much needed weapons and armour.

Lightwave was guilty of all three.

The racer’s once iridescent paint had dulled, but he no longer cared. His weapons were good enough to keep Decepticons at bay if he got cornered, light enough to not prevent him from running full speed. He was online still. And the yellow and green mech had a job to do.

Until his pedes could no longer run, or his spark stopped beating, he would keep going.

They say a racer never stops running until he can’t any longer.

That would be true of Lightwave.

He would run until he couldn’t.

Messages would be delivered by him from base to base, until he collapsed. Once he was well enough again, he would resume.

This was his life.

Once a racer, always a racer.

Now, it was different.

He was no longer racing to win and beat the record.

He was racing to win and beat the death that wanted to catch him.

Lightwave, former racer. Now turned messenger for the Autobot army.

Would never stop running. Not as fast as the speed of light, but close enough to it.

This racer would be no different than the majority of their kind, he wouldn’t stop running.

Not until he was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> You might recognize this fella from one of my other stories, Rise. I just wanted to do a one-shot for him. I hope it was as enjoyable to read as it was to write! Thanks for reading!


End file.
